The Sunflower
by KM2000
Summary: Meng thought she was content living solely with Bartholomew Bloor in the Chinese countryside, but when an orphaned four-year-old girl appears in their cottage after a flood Meng finds herself wanting to help her. However, Bartholomew is reluctant to accept any change to their family dynamic and is determined to be rid of the girl, one way or another.


A/N: This story has been in the works for a while, but only now have I decided to upload it. I originally intended to publish the whole story as one chapter, but now I've decided that it's better to publish it in two chapters. It's about how Bartholomew and Meng adopted Naren into their family and returned with her to the Red King's city. As always, reviews would be very welcome. :) I always love hearing other people's comments and criticisms. It helps me improve my writing, and it's fun to read as well.

The Sunflower

It was after the floods that she walked into their life.

They called it a miracle; a hidden blessing. The elderly couple had long wanted children of their own, but Meng was too old and Bartholomew too hesitant to try to conceive naturally. They had considered adoption before, but not seriously, for Bartholomew hated the long drawn out process and signing of papers that came with it. He had little patience for anything, something Meng had come to know with resigned fondness. That was part of what she loved about him, mad as that sounded.

Meng was perfectly content just being with Bartholomew and spending their days looking after each other in their old age, despite it all. She understood that his love for his first wife, Mary Chance, would never truly fade away, but that he loved Meng, his second wife, with all his heart, in a way he didn't love Mary. She knew the pain and bitterness that he still felt over losing Mary and seeing his entire family turn against him, and did not begrudge him that. It was so apart of him that Meng couldn't find fault with it. And though she did sometimes have a small regret at not being able to produce a child for him, she never voiced it. It would have seemed shallow and mean, in the light of what they did have. They had each other, and that had to be enough.

Bartholomew's arrival into her life ten years before had been a blessing in itself. It had been a dark, dark time. Fever had swept through Meng's small village, killing two-thirds of her community, including all her beloved children and her husband. It had devastated her. For days on end, she had kept to her bed, feeling her energy and meaning drip from her with every day that passed. How could she live, knowing they were gone and she had no one to care for anymore? She'd wanted to die so much. Then Bartholomew had come, out of nowhere, looking for a place to stay the night, and someone had suggested he go to Meng. And he had seen her lying there half-dead, and had felt pity for her. With his wit and gruff nature, Bartholomew Bloor had talked her into living again, and she had felt the first sparks of love. And so, when the man left for places unknown (as he was an explorer), she went with him. They had been together ever since, and Meng's affection for the irascible old man had never died.

They had settled in a small cottage in the north of China, in the middle of nowhere, just close enough to a village to get supplies if need be. Meng was content, even happy, living in isolation with Bartholomew. She loved him and he loved her, and that was enough. She thought it would always be enough. But that was before Naren came into their lives.

It was an unbelievably sunny day—a day in which miracles happened. The sky was cloudless and a faded periwinkle blue, seamless. It uplifted Meng, to see such beauty. She had not been feeling well of late; her back ached terribly and her nose felt as if it had been stuffed in a cushion. It made her remember exactly how old she was, and she didn't like it. Over the past few days, she had found herself gritting her teeth more often, hunching her pained back, and snapping at Bartholomew every time he got on her nerves (which was often). It came as no surprise when, on that strange and wonderful day, he packed a bag and left, leaving a note on the kitchen table for her.

_Meng,_

_I've just gone to the village to top up our supplies. I don't know how long it'll take; I might stay the night there. With luck, I'll be back by the end of the day._

_Love,_

_Bartholomew._

Well, Meng thought ruefully. She had it coming, she supposed. She hadn't been the kindest person in the last few days, her back being so bad. No wonder Bartholomew had wanted to get away from her. It would have hurt her, except she knew he'd be back. He always came back to her.

In spite of her back, she still felt a compulsion to do something, so she grabbed a basket of recently washed clothes and marched outside to peg them onto the clothesline. She would wait for Bartholomew's return, she told herself firmly, and she would apologise for being so unpleasant lately. There wasn't anything to worry about. Bartholomew had often left abruptly when something had worried or annoyed him (and it was mostly not Meng), needing time alone to think, he said. Bartholomew would return, eventually. She just had to give him time.

Meng was concentrating so much on her task and her thoughts that she almost didn't hear the light footsteps approaching from behind her, too light and quick to be those of an adult man. Slowly, bursts of song drifted to her ears, mournful and sweet in nature, sung in a shaking child's voice.

_The moon is bright, the wind is quiet_

_The tree leaves hang over the window,_

_My little baby, go to sleep quickly,_

_Sleep, dreaming sweet dreams._

_The moon is bright, the wind is quiet,_

_The cradle moving softly,_

_My little one, close your eyes,_

_Sleep, sleep, dreaming sweet dreams._

She dropped the basket, entranced, and just listened, feeling tears prick her eyes. How sad and filled with longing it was! It was almost like a farewell. The child singing it sounded very young, maybe not even six years old. Meng listened reverently until the voice died away, feeling a peace and serenity she hadn't had before. For a moment, she just stood there, basking in the sunlight and savouring the end of the song.

Then, slowly, she turned around, almost afraid of what she would find. But it was only a girl, a small one at that, standing in the shadow of the trees, staring at her with an expression of aching loss on her face.

'That was a beautiful song,' Meng said gently, so as not to scare the girl away.

'It was the only one I knew,' the girl said softly. 'My mother used to sing it to me often. It was the only song I had to farewell my parents with.' To Meng's alarm, her lower lip began to wobble, and tears filled her eyes. 'They're dead now. There's nothing left. The flood swept everything away.'

'Do not cry, little one,' and Meng took a step towards her, her heart aching to comfort the poor creature in some way. 'All will be well.'

The girl sniffled, and wiped her face, peering at Meng curiously. 'My mama used to say that.'

Meng held out a hand, and smiled encouragingly. 'Now come with me into the house, and I will find you food to eat. You must be hungry.' And the girl did look far too thin for Meng's liking. She could see the girl's ribcage sticking out, making her look almost like a skeleton.

The girl nodded energetically, her curls bouncing, and Meng could see her eyes light up. 'Oh, yes! I'm starving!'

Step by step, Meng managed to coax her into the cottage, where she made her sit while she prepared something nutritious for the poor girl. She placed a steaming bowl of noodles in front of the girl and watched with pity as she wolfed it down as if it could possibly disappear and leave her with nothing. The girl seemed to have not eaten for days since her parents died.

Meng let the girl finish her meal before she asked, very gently, 'What is your name, little one?'

The girl smiled up at her then with an incredibly merry smile, and introduced herself, just like that. Her name was Naren, after the Chinese word for sunflower. She was four years old, and already knew how to count to five and spell out her own name, a thing she demonstrated with some glee to a bemused Meng. She ran around the cottage in leaps and bounds, her arms spread out as if she were a butterfly, and cheerfully said that the cottage was the prettiest, cosiest home she'd ever seen and her parents would have liked it, if they had lived beyond the flood. She was the most enchanting thing Meng had ever laid her eyes on; there was something about the girl that made her heart squeeze and leap, much like it had been with her own children. From the moment little Naren smiled at her, Meng was besotted.

So, as darkness fell and Naren asked shyly if she could sleep in the cottage for the nights were cold and she had no other shelter to go to (she had been sleeping in the forest amid trees and shrubs during the past nights since the flood), Meng agreed.

OOO

'Are you sure it is all right?' Naren asked anxiously as Meng tucked her into a makeshift bed on the sofa, covering her with a patchwork quilt patterned with miniature butterflies and teddy bears that smelled of a musky scent that reminded her of her mother. 'I do not take up too much room?'

'No,' Meng said. 'You are welcome to stay here as long as you wish, little one.' She touched Naren's cheek and smiled softly, and Naren thrilled at it. She had never been touched like that before by anyone other than her mother. It gave her a warm fuzzy feeling deep inside. 'Now sleep. You need it.' As gently as it came, the touch went away, and Meng's footsteps could soon be heard receding from the room.

Naren closed her eyes, feeling peaceful and drowsy. What luck she had had, to find this place! A warm bed to sleep in, the first in many days, and a full belly. She had come across other cottages after the flood, but the families in them had chased her away, thinking her to be a no-good urchin. Meng was different from them. Meng was the sweetest, kindest lady she had ever met, with exception to her own mother, of course. She could have been someone's grandmother.

The thoughts swirled in Naren's mind, of Meng, of her dear mother, of the flood. It had been quick, when it came. There had been no warning at all, unlike the other times. The water had swept in, smothering everything in the house, even the screams of her mother and father. Naren could still hear them, and feel the terror in her madly beating heart and her own sobs as the waves carried her away. And then quiet, the type of quiet that comes when a life is lost. _Mama, papa, where are you? I need you. Come out!_ But they would not come out, and Naren was too afraid to come in, for fear of what she would find. And so she had stayed where the flood had carried her, curled under the boughs of a tree and awaited the dawn.

Meng was much like her own mother, Naren thought drowsily. Just older. Her mother had been the most beautiful woman in their village, with her thick dark hair that came down to her shoulders and eyes the colour of mahogany. It had been her sweet smile and her laughter which made him fall in love with her, Naren's father used to say. Naren believed him. Her mother had been like a goddess, a beautiful goddess which Naren had been in awe of half the time. In Naren's eyes, she could do no wrong. Naren recalled how she had often come to her bedroom at night, to read her bedtime stories. She remembered her loving touch, her wide smile as she looked at Naren and said, 'Goodnight, my beautiful girl.'

Meng's touch reminded her of all that, and more. Sorrow filled her, mingled with her sleepiness. Mother was gone, father too. No more mother to read bedtime stories to, or to kiss her goodnight. No more father to praise her and hug her. They were dead, gone, killed by something as simple as a flood. But she was alive. Naren did not know why or how she survived. Maybe it was because she was outside, playing with her dolls when it happened, and had managed to cling to something—she didn't know what—that kept her afloat for a time until the waves stilled. Naren didn't know for sure. All that she knew was that she was alive, and they were dead.

She had nowhere to live now, as well, Naren realised. Maybe she could stay with Meng? Meng had said that she could stay as long as she wanted. Perhaps that was the answer to her predicament. She could stay with Meng forever in this wonderful cottage that seemed so filled with joy and love and hope. She could be safe forever. With that thought in mind, Naren let herself sink into sleep, feeling a wistful smile curve her mouth.

OOO

In the early hours of the morning, Meng woke to see Bartholomew looming over her furiously. Irritation flared in her. Of all people, only Bartholomew would wake her up in the middle of the night like that. Inwardly cursing, she glared up at him. 'Really, Bartholomew!'

'Meng, we need to talk,' he said abruptly.

She stifled a sigh, and hauled herself into a sitting position. 'What is it, then? Naren, I think. You've seen her and now you are angry at me.' She paused. 'You did not wake her, did you? Because I will be very cross if you did.'

Bartholomew didn't bat an eyelid. 'You mean the girl that's at this moment sleeping in the spare room? No, I didn't.' He frowned at her. 'And yes, I am angry at you. I go away for one day and you cause mayhem!'

Meng sighed. 'Sheltering a young girl is not causing mayhem, Bartholomew.'

'It is to me! We don't even know this girl! For all we know, she is taking advantage of your goodwill.'

'She is only four years old, Bartholomew. And very sweet as well. Her parents died in the flood.' She stared at him, daring him to argue with her. 'Are you saying that I should have chased her away? She was starving when I first saw her.'

Bartholomew grimaced. A shadow of regret crossed his face. 'When you put it like that, no. You were good to take her in. But why did you have to tell her she could stay for as long as she wanted? We can't have a little girl staying here like that. You know our lifestyle. We could be here today and gone tomorrow.'

'How did you know what I said to her?' Meng said, still feeling irritated.

'I know you, Meng, and that is exactly what you would say,' Bartholomew said. His face softened. 'You are much more kind and considerate than I am. You'd shelter an entire crowd of strangers if I let you.' Then his jaw tightened. 'I cannot allow you to shelter this girl, though. We know nothing of her at all! The best thing for her would be to take her to the nearest city and leave her there for the authorities to deal with. They'll know what to do.'

Bartholomew could at times be gruff and rude, but Meng knew that he had a good heart. She knew that he did care about her and their life together. In time he had to see that Naren would not disrupt their life but instead bring joy to it. She gazed up at him.

'Bartholomew,' she said sweetly. 'Naren makes me happy. Do you not want me to be happy? If we shelter her now, she will bring so much happiness into both our lives. I am sure of it.'

Bartholomew muttered under his breath, his face thunderous. He refused to look at Meng. Meng didn't care. She wanted Naren with them and would do anything to make that happen.

'Just think, she is only four years old...'

'Enough!' Bartholomew finally snapped. He glared at Meng, and she knew she had won the moment she saw the frustrated resignation in his eyes. 'Alright, I give up! She can stay, but just until we leave. Then she'll go straight to the authorities. You hear?'

Meng heard. She smiled victoriously. 'Of course, Bartholomew. Of course.' Then, in a cheerful tone, she added, 'Will you come to bed now? I am getting cold.'

Bartholomew sighed.

oOoOo

When Naren heard that she would be staying in the cottage, she was overjoyed. It was a dream come true, something she hadn't really expected once she saw the glare on the old man's face and heard the shouting coming from Meng's bedroom. Naren couldn't hear most of it, but it was intense and harsh and she felt astonished that this man would speak like that to his own wife and a woman who was so kind and generous. He didn't seem like a very nice person, Naren thought critically. Her father would never have spoken like that to her mother. However, the outcome of all that shouting was that Naren could stay, and that was enough to make her want to leap for joy.

'Not forever,' the grumpy old man said, frowning at her ferociously. Naren couldn't help but giggle at how bear-like it made him look. 'We're moving on soon and then you'll go to the city.'

The city. Naren's smile faded at the thought. She had never been there, and didn't know what to expect. Once she had heard her parents speak of it, their voices like flint. Naren had pressed her ear against the door to their bedroom, curious to hear what they were saying. What she did hear baffled her considerably.

'Huan,' she heard her mother say in urgent tones. 'You know we have to.'

Her father had said nothing, but Naren could hear his footsteps treading heavily to and fro on the other side of the door. He always did that when he was deep in thought or worried about something. He had been doing it more and more often recently in the days leading up to the flooding.

'It is the only way to protect her.'

'No!' Father burst out, his voice full of sudden passion. 'I am not returning to that place, not even for my daughter. It is too dangerous, for all of us.'

Mother stared at him (or rather, Naren imagined her staring at him). 'All of us, or just you?' she said, and Naren heard a slight edge in her voice. 'You must think of Naren, Huan. She is growing, and will need what a city can offer her. Do not ruin her life because of your pride.'

'It is not pride that stops me, Mei,' Father said. 'Nor stubbornness. I tell you, Naren cannot go to the city, not ever. I cannot tell you why, not yet. Just trust me when I say we cannot leave here now. It would be going against fate to do so.'

Naren did not know what he meant by fate and not wanting her to go to the city, and plainly her mother didn't either, for she said, 'You and your excuses! I tell you, Naren would be much better off in the city. Just because you are too proud to go back after what you did...'

There was a rustle, and Naren could imagine her mother crossing her arms and turning away in disgust.

'I tell you, we must stay here!' Father said.

Naren did not hear any more of that conversation, for her parents were moving towards the door and Naren had to scamper away as silently and quickly as she could to avoid being discovered. Her parents would have punished her for eavesdropping otherwise, to teach her respect, they would say. It was rude to eavesdrop on conversations that were none of her business in the first place. And then barely a week later the flood happened, and Naren's parents were gone. Naren was left with no answers to the questions that had sprung in her mind during that puzzling conversation.

Now, Naren stared up at the grumpy old man and wondered. Was it really so terrible for her to go back to the city? Why did her father not want her to go there? And how come her father was talking of fate and doom? She couldn't come up with an answer for herself so she gazed up at the old man and concentrated on him to distract herself. His accent was strange, different from hers and Meng's. He looked different too. Why was that? Naren squinted at him and came to a conclusion.

'Are you an alien?'

'What?' The man blinked at her, taken aback. 'Why do you say that, girl?'

'You do not look like you're from here. You sound funny, too. If you are not from here then you must be an alien.' She bobbed her head up and down, pleased. He couldn't be anything but an alien. Maybe that's why he was so grumpy- maybe all aliens were grumpy where he came from.

The man looked offended, for some reason. 'I don't know where you came up with that hair-brained idea, but I am not an alien,' he snapped.

'Why not?' Naren said, genuinely confused. If he was not an alien, then what was he?

'He is British,' Meng said from the doorway. Both Naren and the old man turned toward where she stood holding a basket of freshly picked fruit. 'And infuriating to boot. I do not know why I put up with him.' She glared at him, but the old man didn't falter.

'You know why you put up with me, Meng,' he said. To Naren's surprise, he walked over to the old woman and kissed her on her cheek almost playfully.

'Oh, you!' Meng scoffed, turning her cheek away, but Naren could have sworn there was a hint of a smile on her face. 'I am still angry with you, Bartholomew.'

So the grumpy old man was called Bartholomew, Naren thought.

'Why ever?' Bartholomew said in a surprisingly lighthearted voice. 'I already told you how sorry I was.'

Meng just shook her head and walked into the cottage's cosy kitchen, holding her basket close to her. The moment she was gone Bartholomew turned back to Naren, and she saw that all the lightness in his expression was gone, replaced by his usual gruff look.

'We're letting you stay here out of the goodness of our hearts, girl,' he said coldly. 'Don't make us regret our decision.'

Never, Naren thought but didn't say.


End file.
